Remus Lupin's No Good, Terrible, Very Bad Day
by madurai
Summary: His first mistake was getting out of bed. Post DH, AU From the March rt challenge ficathon. The prompt was 'whimsy.'


On reflection, he realized that his first mistake was getting out of bed.

By the time he awoke the late afternoon sun was filtering through the curtains, and although he was still tired, he was no longer sleepy. Weighing the relative merits of staying tucked under the warm comforter with a bar of chocolate versus rousting his aching bones out of bed in search of his family, there was really no contest.

The sound of giggling—his wife's and his son's—drew him to the kitchen. He peered through the doorway and was about to ask them what was so funny when all hell broke loose. His son's sudden shout of "Dad, look out!" was accompanied by a hissing sound, followed soon after by a high-pitched yowl as his bare foot came into contact with something soft and rather more yielding than the linoleum. A small, spotted ball of fur was subsequently seen streaking across the kitchen floor, on to the counter top, and through the open kitchen window. The accompanying crash marked the demise of his mother-in-law's potted herb garden.

"What the bloody hell was _that?!_"

* * *

He was trying to be very patient with his wife as they stood looking up into the tree where the kitten had hidden itself.

"Why in Merlin's name did you bring it home?"

"It was a whim. We had been talking about getting Teddy a pet—"

"Yes, but we had talked about getting a dog, or perhaps a nice, quiet turtle."

"How was I to know that you don't get on with Kneazles?"

He raised an eyebrow.

"Oh, right." She paused, but then fixed him with a puzzled look. "But we visit Ron and Hermione all the time, and you've never had any trouble with Crookshanks."

"Crookshanks is only part Kneazle. And besides, I must say he has always been a very discriminating creature."

"B-but, how is she going to get down?" sniffed Teddy beside him.

His knees creaked as he kneeled down to look at his son. "She'll be fine, Teddy; Kneazles are quite adept at climbing trees. She'll come down when she's good and ready."

Dora bit her lower lip and looked up at the tree speculatively. "We could climb up and get her …"

At that point he was certain that getting out of bed had quite possibly been the worst decision he had ever made. "And which one of us do you suggest climb up there, Dora? You're not exactly the most nimble witch in the world, even when you're not four months pregnant. And, in case you've forgotten, the creature's utter displeasure at my mere existence is what landed us in this predicament in the first place."

"You don't have to get snarky, Remus."

He sighed. "No, you're right. I apologize."

"But it's going to be dark soon! She'll get cold! And hungry!"

And so, he did the only thing that any self-respecting father could do when his five-year-old son was on the verge of tears. Ignoring the ache in his shoulders as he lifted his arms to grab the nearest branch, and gripping his bare toes against the bark of the trunk for leverage, he hauled himself into the tree to retrieve the sodding Kneazle.

* * *

As he picked the leaves out of his jumper with his remaining good hand, he was reminded once again as to why he did not climb trees. Getting up there was one thing, but the trip down had been…interesting, to say the least. He wasn't sure which was more painful—the deep scratch along his right hand where he had reached for the little beast, a possibly broken nose from that collision between his face and a branch on the way down, or the humiliation of falling flat-arsed out of a tree in front of his son.

He winced as Dora prodded his bruised nose. "It's not broken, at least." He could tell that she was torn between sympathy and laughter as she picked another leaf out of his hair and kissed him on the cheek. "It was a nice effort, anyway, love." She took out her wand to heal the laceration on his hand and promised to rub some of Bosley's Bruise Balm '_wherever it hurts'_ later that evening.

Looking up at the Kneazle, which was now grooming itself quite contentedly within the upper branches of the tree, she addressed their son: "Your Dad's right, Teddy. The Kneazle is much better than any of us at climbing trees." This time the laughter in her voice was unmistakable, and he wasn't at all sure whether he wanted to kiss her or throttle her. Her eyes lit up as she had an idea. "I know, we could leave a blanket and a saucer of milk for her here under the tree. That way, when she gets hungry she can climb down and have something to eat, and we know she won't get cold."

'_Why in the name of Merlin's baggy pants could she not have suggested that ten minutes ago _before_ I fell out of the tree?'_ he asked himself. What he said was, "That sounds like an excellent idea. I'll go and get the milk." _'And perhaps a nice, stiff shot of Firewhiskey.'_

* * *

Two hours later he found himself back at the foot of the tree where Teddy slept, wrapped in the blanket with the Kneazle purring contentedly from her position between his knees.

"Yes, well, you win this round," he grudgingly admitted. "Are you going to let me carry him inside, or do the two of you plan to sleep out here for the rest of the night?" The creature gave a single sneeze as if to show its contempt, then stretched and walked haughtily through the kitchen door and into the house. "Bloody Kneazles," he grunted as he bent to lift his son and carry him to bed.

As he entered the room he spared a withering glance for the Kneazle—which was now comfortably ensconced on the top of Teddy's wardrobe—and tucked his son in bed. Dora bent to give Teddy a kiss, pulling the comforter up snugly around his shoulders.

She smiled up at him as he put his arm around her and walked her out of the room. "Did Teddy tell you what he named her?"

'_Named her? When did we decide we were going to keep the ruddy thing, much less give it a name?'_ He sighed in resignation. "I can't imagine."

"Whimsy."


End file.
